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The Cricket Field.
Fortunate indeed this field;
It’s destiny is not to yield
A harvest made with wheat and corn
From rutting plough or harrow born,
But cleared of lump & stump & thicket
Is set aside for playing cricket.
In winter gentle sheep may graze
Preserving turf for summer days,
A picket fence thrown round the square
Should hoof or human trespass there.
Some say we should share – use the land-
Clearly, they don’t understand.
This field shall always take its name
Only from England’s noblest game.
Despite its level disposition
And most favourable condition
Hockey posts shall not be found,
This is no recreation ground.
Four generations, maybe more,
Since long before the first World War,
Cricketers long gone, & some
Who play today, & those to come,
All sow unmixed the seeds of cricket
And harvest only run & wicket.
By Arthur Salway
Fast Spin.
When we were boys and striding to the wicket,
Learning life while we were playing cricket,
“The bowling good?”we’d ask as we went in;
Departing batsmen scowled & said,”Fast spin”.
Two dreaded words to cause a youngster’s heart
To lose all confidence before the start.
What use technique or grim determination?
Who could survive such awesome combination?
We learned that speed faced up to seems less daunting;
That spin is nothing if the length is wanting;
That some the obstacles will overstate,
While runs come gradually to those who wait.
And later, in life’s seventy over match,
When adversaries threaten to dispatch
Our hopes and dreams before they can begin
Those childhood words come back to us- “Fast spin”.
By Arthur Salway | 
